Merope: A Gaunt Story
by MissBianca
Summary: Mistaken. Misadventured. Misunderstood. This is the story of Merope Gaunt, from the first time she saw Tom Riddle to the night she had his child, as recalled from her deathbed.
1. Chapter 1

_New Year's Eve, 1926_

The night was cold, and snowing mercilessly on the streets of London. Its residents were avoiding the harsh weather by celebrating the year's end indoors; their bodies warmed by fire and their minds by alcohol. In their excitement, no one noticed the small woman stagger weakly down the streets outside, battling against the bitter wind. Her hair, dark and lank, was damp from the snow, and hung about her pale face, whose cheeks refused to turn pink from the cold. In fact, her being displayed no colour at all and it was too dark to see that her eyes faced different directions. Her skinny frame struggled to support her pregnancy; the seams of her dirty, grey dress threatening to rip under the pressure of the bulge. It was to this she clung as another contraction took hold of her momentarily, before she continued, panting and sweating despite the cold. Suddenly, a building emerged through the wall of falling snow. To anyone else, the orphanage would have appeared menacing in its height, with its windows dark save one downstairs. Despite its purpose, it looked anything but welcoming, almost daring anyone to push against the large iron gates and enter the plain courtyard within. But to this woman it was a haven, and she stumbled through the gates and up the stairs, one at a time, to knock feebly on the door. No one heard of course, so the woman pressed the doorbell, before she had to sit down as another contraction made itself present. The big wooden door slowly and noisily opened, and a young woman peered timidly out. She would not have noticed the woman on the floor had it not been for the latter's gasp of pain.

"Oh my –" the young matron said, before she stepped back inside and shouted, "Mrs. Williams?!"

There were hurried footsteps approaching from inside and the door opened wider, flooding the front porch with light, making the pregnant woman appear even more plain and lifeless. The older matron named Mrs. Williams pulled the woman to her feet, with a "Come on, dear" and supported her inside. The younger matron assisted Mrs. Williams in helping the woman climb the stairs, stopping twice due to contractions. Before long, the matrons had the woman in a bed, covering her shoulders in blankets and pressing a cool towel to her forehead. As the younger matron bustled around, preparing for the birth, Mrs. Williams attempted to learn the details of the woman in between her contractions, which were growing closer together. But the woman either could not or would not answer, for she didn't say a thing. An hour later, the woman's baby had been born; a perfectly healthy, crying boy, with ten fingers, ten toes and a dark mop of hair. Mrs. Williams wrapped the boy in a blanket and, beaming, went to hand him to the new mother. But she almost dropped the baby when she looked at the woman, for her face was deathly white, no longer flushed from the labour and she was not moving, leaving Mrs. Williams fearing she was dead. But the woman's eyelids fluttered open and her odd eyes rested weakly on the baby, which was no longer crying, in the matron's arms. Something of a smile flickered over her unfortunate looking face, and Mrs. Williams placed the baby in her arms. She ordered the younger matron the stay near, fearing the mother was too weak to hold the boy for long, as she left to make a cup of tea. The younger matron sat beside the woman and her baby and said, "Isn't he precious?"

The mother tore her eyes from her son to look unevenly at the matron. "I hope he looks like his papa." She whispered, for lack of strength, before taking a deep breath and turning back to her son, whose face she began to softly stroke. "Tom," she said quietly. "For his father ... and Marvolo ... for... for my father." Her voice became hoarse as she struggled to breathe. The matron rose, alarmed, but the woman raised her hand feebly, making the matron sit back down but remain tense.

"His surname ..." the woman continued through exhausted breaths. "Is Riddle..." she turned to look at the matron once more. "Please." she said. "Please..." and then her eyes closed. The young matron took the sleeping boy from her arms, fearing the woman dead. But her chest continued to rise and fall, if only just noticeably. The woman was in fact concentrating on her breathing very carefully, hardly noticing when the matron took her baby away. She was imagining each breath as each struggle she had faced in her life. That one for her unsupportive, abusive family ... that one for her misfortunes in love ... and that one for her decision to stop using the magic she had been born with. How odd it was that in this moment, minutes from her death, she began remembering the details of the past year. The first time she saw Tom Riddle, her father's rage when he found out about her fondness and the constant abuse that had begun long before, the moment she rediscovered her powers as a witch, the blissful months with her new husband, and when he left her. Yes, Merope Gaunt thought, as each breath became harder to draw. How odd that she should remember the past now.

_September, 1925_

"Merope!" called a gruff voice from the dining room. "Where's my goddamn lunch? You're as slow as a filthy Muggle!"

Merope had started at the sudden shout of her name, dropping the sandwich on a plate she was holding. Sighing, she picked it up and began wiping the grime off it before deciding it was a lost cause; she wasn't hungry anyway. She picked up her father's and brother's lunches and carried them into the next room.

"Well it's about bloody time," her father, Marvolo Gaunt, said as her brother, Morfin, snickered.

Merope didn't say anything, but kept her head down as she placed the sandwiches in front of them.

"Next time, be quick about it, do you hear me? I said, do you hear me?!" and Marvolo hit his daughter across the face.

Eyes watering from pain and shock, Merope nodded before hurriedly leaving the room. For fear of being called a 'snivelling Squib' if her father was to hear her cry, she ran outside and sat by the front hedge before releasing the sob she had been holding. Through her tears, she noticed a wilting flower, looking as helpless as Merope felt. Not pleased with this scenery, Merope raised her wand to cast _effloresco_, but all she could manage was, "Eff- eff- eff-", still shaken as she was from her father's outburst. Her lack of ability to perform the magic, or any magic for that matter, brought on a fresh wave of tears. Perhaps her father was right. Perhaps she _was_ a Squib. She had always been limited in her magic; even at Hogwarts School, where she had been the victim of frequent bullying, constantly causing her to be distracted while trying to concentrate, and she was terribly afraid of failure, though she did not know why: she had failed everyone around her all her life. Her mother had even died following the birth of Merope. She took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself, and made to rise, when she heard the soft beats of a horse's hooves coming down the lane. Merope automatically ducked behind the hedge, not wanting anyone to see her in the state she was in. Yet she couldn't help but peek over the hedge to see the oncoming passerby, and she was surprised by what she saw. There was a young man behind the reins, sitting tall on the horse as if they were one, and he was so handsome it took Merope's breath away. His skin was smooth and spotless, supporting a strong jaw and high cheekbones. His eyes, oh his eyes; they were deep brown under long lashes, from what she could see when he shook the dark hair away from his face. It looked clean and soft, more so than Merope could ever achieve. She must have subconsciously risen during her observations, because he suddenly turned to look at her, piercing her soul with his gaze. Merope had to look away.

"You should get that looked at," a deep, almost seductive voice said. Merope looked up. Was he really talking to her? "And any domestic violence taking place." he added, raising one eyebrow, making him look intimidating but only the more handsome. Merope could only stare at him, but numbly raised a hand to feel where her father had struck her. The young man nodded politely before he turned his head back toward the road and continued on his way. Merope continued to stare. She leaned over the hedge to stare at his retreating back, feeling as though in a trance. The man sat with his back straight; his posture confident, as though he were the king on a pegusus. It was after his head disappeared down the hill that Merope broke out of her reverie. How silly she must've look to him; in her dirty grey dress, eyes red rimmed and damp, her cheek slowly bruising. She walked slowly back in to the house, passing her brother Morfin in the hall. He looked at her suspiciously through the long and dirty hair falling over his face, but Merope only stared at the ground as she walked into the dining room to collect his and her father's empty plates. She avoided her father's eyes as she walked in, but he said nothing. Merope wouldn't have cared about anything he said anyway. She wouldn't have cared about what anyone said.

She was in love.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few weeks saw Merope's infatuation grow. At the same time every day, just after lunch, she would sneak outside to peer through the hedge, watching as the handsome young man rode past on his horse. Occasionally he rode past with others, but they were always men, to Merope's relief. But her insecurity as to the young man's relationship status grew after one afternoon, when the man rode past with a male companion many years his senior, his grey hair poking out from under his bowler hat. They were chatting casually as they approached the House of Gaunt, indistinctly until Merope huddled against the hedge.

"Well come on, Tom. Who is she?" the older man was saying in a teasing tone.

Merope's heart skipped a beat. His name was Tom? What a beautiful name. Simple, but elegant all the same.

"Ah, Mr. Lewis," came the young man's smooth voice, almost making Merope's heart stop altogether. "I couldn't tell you that. We're trying to keep it quiet, you see."

"What on earth for?" the older man said.

Merope saw Tom shrug. "Makes the game all the more fun, wouldn't you agree?" he flashed a smile, displaying perfectly straight, bright white teeth. Though her mind was reeling about the prospect of Tom seeing a girl, she still raised a hand to her mouth and gingerly felt her own teeth. She knew they were slightly yellow, and there was one missing to the side where she had knocked it out on a kitchen counter during one of her father's physical rages. The men were right in front of her now; she could see how Tom's shirt had been ironed to perfection and fit snugly around his torso.

"Just tell me, you cheeky young Riddle!" said the older man, affectionately.

Riddle. Tom Riddle. Merope assumed that he must be the squire's son, of Little Hangleton; the village the Gaunts lived just on the outskirts of. She knew her father and brother hated the Riddles, calling them 'the filthiest of all poisoned Muggle blood'. Surely that didn't refer to their son? Surely he was different?

"All right," said Tom, as his carriage began descending the hill past the Gaunt house. "Miss Cecilia Jones."

Merope didn't catch the old man's reply. She felt her eyes fill with tears. _Cecilia_, she thought bitterly. She was probably very beautiful, with flowing golden hair and full, pink lips. _Her_ eyes wouldn't face different directions.

"_What are you doing_?" came a hiss behind her.

Merope jumped up and turned around. Morfin was standing behind her by the door, watching her. A long, thin snake wrapped around his shoulders. Merope avoided his stare and walked past him and inside, feeling his dark gaze follow her.

The next day passed just as the one's before, except for when Merope routinely snuck out of the house to peer through the hedge at Tom Riddle. It was in vain, for he did not come past at the moment he usually did. Merope waited for minutes, feeling increasingly foolish as she did so, before turning back to the house, defeated. It wasn't until she was washing the dishes after dinner, idly staring out the open window into the cool evening front of her, she heard the steady clopping of horse hooves coming down the road. Merope almost dropped the plate. _He was here_. She peeked out into the hall, but her father was sitting on his armchair, writing with an old, grey quill on parchment. He would surely see her if she tried to go outside. Running quietly back into the kitchen, she looked out the window again, but Tom Riddle was already nearing the house. Panicking that she would miss him, Merope literally leaned out of the window of see.

"'Andsome, in't he?" said Morfin behind her, sounding forcibly calm. "That Muggle scum." Merope straightened up, forgetting herself momentarily and banged her head on the top of the window. Eyes watering and ears filled with Morfin's insane cackling, she saw her brother casually twirling his wand between his fingers. Merope tried to look as though she had no idea what he was talking about, though she could feel her face burning at being caught, as he approached the window and looked out. Before Merope knew what was happening, Morfin had aimed his wand at Tom Riddle, now directly in front of the house, and a bright light emitted from his wand. There was a cry from Tom, drowned by Morfin's manic laughter, and Merope could only look from one to the other with her mouth open. Tom had stopped his horse and stood up in the stirrups, looking toward the Gaunt house with his hands over his face, both of which were now covered in angry disappeared from the kitchen, his laughter echoing down the hall.

Tom had let out a cry at the sight of Merope and Morfin at the window, and now he looked at Merope in disgust. He sat back down and cantered the horse down the road, covering his face as best he could with his hands. Tears welled up again in Merope's eyes. That look. That_ look_. It broke Merope's heart. Never had she felt uglier, or more humiliated in her life, when all she wanted to do was hold Tom, caress his soft, dark hair and cure the hives; though she'd probably end up blasting his nose off in the process. _Filthy, useless Squib_, echoed in her head. Merope's hand started shaking as fresh tears formed, but this time of anger at her brother. Of hate. She ran to Morfin's room and flung open the door. He was sitting on his bed, stroking the snake around his shoulders, crooning to it in Parseltongue, but he looked up at Merope's dramatic entrance as though he had been expecting her.

"You- you- you-" she stuttered.

"_You_-_ you_- _you_-," Morfin mimicked in a high voice. "You wha'? You are such a disgrace to this fam'ly, Merope! Staring at a filthy Muggle? What's the mat'a with you?!" he was angry; Merope could see his hands shake as he rose from the bed. She could only retreat into a corner as he approached.

"I mean, you were actually _leaning_ out the window! A Muggle! A low, dir'y blooded Muggle! Does your fam'ly heritage mean nuffin' to you?!" he let out a roar of anger and pulled out an old, bloodstained knife, brandishing it above Merope, who was now cowering on the floor. She could only open and close her mouth like a fish in her shock as his odd eyes burned a hole of rage into her equally mismatched eyes. But Morfin lowered the knife and, closing his eyes, took a deep breath in order to calm himself.

"Out," he said, but Merope only stared, unable to move. "I said _out_!" Morfin took hold of Merope's upper arm in a firm grip that made Merope wince, pulled her roughly to her feet and threw her out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Her father yelled something in a gruff voice from downstairs, but Merope didn't hear over the pounding of blood in her ears. She rose to her feet slowly and unsteadily, before slowly retreating into her own room. She only just made it to her bed before her shaking knees collapsed under her, and she fell, face down, onto the musty covers. Was Morfin right? Was she really a disgrace to the family? Merope idly toyed with the locket around her neck. It was a very important locket, whose gold chain she was to keep on her being at all times. Salazar Slytherin's it was, of whom she and her brother and father were direct descendants. Had she disgraced him too? _Always the failure_, she thought bitterly of herself. She grabbed a pillow and violently shoved it against her face, meaning to scream into it with all her might. But nothing came out; only a strangled sob. She had no voice.

But she had never had a voice.


	3. Chapter 3

After Merope had cried until there were no tears left, she began descending the stairs into the living room, seeking the comfort of a book. She only read occasionally, when she wanted to escape from the world around her; although this happened often. Very often. On the way, she past an old, grimy mirror on the wall, and glanced at it. Metal snakes wound themselves around the glass that reflected Merope's pale but blotchy face. Her dark eyes, though they may face different directions, were equally red and puffy. Her hair hung even more lank than usual around her shoulders, with some strands sticking to her face. Merope felt nothing but sadness and anger at her reflection. Why was she so ugly? So useless? So unwanted? Tearing her eyes away from the almost painful image, she passed her father and brother in the hall, both of whom ignored her, of course.

"A Hives Hex, you say? Well done, Morfin. No doubt 'e deserved it!" her father said.

Merope froze as she turned the corner. Had Morfin said anything about her obvious fondness for Tom Riddle? She listened hard, but there was no violent call of her name, no roar of rage. Merope took a deep breath and continued to the bookshelf. She cocked her head to the side and ran a finger along the titles: _Green, Silver and Pure: The Life of Salazar Slytherin_; _The Trees and Timelines of Purebloods_ and _The Death of Muggles: How Wizards Will Rule the World_. Merope sighed; that wasn't the type of world she wanted to get lost in.

"Merope!" Marvolo called angrily from the kitchen, making Merope's heart stop. Had Morfin finally said something?

After stalling for as long as she could, but knowing it would only make her father angrier and the butterflies in her stomach worse, Merope took a deep breath and walked into the kitchen.

"Yes, Father?" she said in a barely audible whisper, looking at her feet.

"Clean these bloody pots before you cook somethin' in them. They're as dirty as any Muggle."

Merope almost laughed in her relief. "Yes, Father." she said again, scurrying to the sink. She began filling the sink with hot water, knowing it would be no use using her wand. The steam rose, hitting her face and making her sweat, so Merope opened the window in front of her, sending the steam out. Merope took a moment to admire the clear, blue sky as she waited for the sink to fill. What would it feel like to fall into that sky? To bathe in the blue? To have no limits, no boundaries, but freedom? Merope sighed, and shook her head in an effort to clear the silliness from it, as she began scrubbing the pots. Dreaming would get her nowhere; it would only increase the ache of longing in her chest, to a point where she probably couldn't breathe.

"Morfin!" yelled Marvolo from the next room, making her jump and drop the pot into the soapy water, which masked the sound. She picked it up again, resuming her scrubbing and continuing to gaze into the sky. Suddenly, the door slammed and Morfin came shuffling in and dropped into an armchair. Merope ignored him, though something appeared to be on his mind. Leaving the pots to air dry for the moment, Merope began cook lunch; throwing old, soft vegetables into a pot over the stove. As she stirred she heard voices drifting in through the window. One was her father's. The other she did not recognise.

"I am here following a serious breach of Wizarding law..." the unfamiliar voice was saying.

Merope paused in her work. Someone here had broken the Statute of Secrecy? But of course; Morfin, when he cast that Hives Hex on poor Tom Ri –

Merope had to stop, forcing her tears to disappear back into the ducts from whence they came. Everything made her think of Tom, who would never ride past the house again. Merope would never see him. Not after what happened with Morfin. _Morfin_. Merope glanced at him over her shoulder. Would they take her brother away?

"All right, all right, all right!" Marvolo was yelling to the guest outside. The front door opened as Merope was picking up the pots, and her father walked in with an oddly dressed man; like a wizard attempting to blend in with Muggles. Merope glanced at him as her father introduced her vaguely, but Merope could do nothing but glance at her father, as if she had no idea why the man was here and she played no part in his sudden appearance. She turned her back, trying to look busy, but straining to hear the men's conversation.

"... we have reason to believe that your son, Morfin, performed magic in front of a Muggle late last night." the man was saying.

_Oh no_, Merope thought. _He _was_ here because of Tom Riddle_! In her shock and fear of being discovered, the pot she was replacing on the shelf slipped through her grasp and clattered to the floor loudly.

"_Pick it up!_" her father screamed at her, sending fear through Merope again. Hands shaking, she bent to pick the pot up from the floor, struggling to keep it in her unstable grasp. Her father's insults hit her hard as they always did, making her grip on the pot falter again and it crashed to the floor a second time. Wishing she could drown in the tears filling her eyes, she pulled out her wand at her father's harsh request. In her panic, and the pressure she was under, she mumbled what should have been '_Accio_', but the pot zoomed in the other direction, breaking as it hit the wall. Merope flinched, glad that her hair could cover her heated face. Nothing ever worked out for her. Why was she on this earth? What cruel force was keeping her alive?

"Mend it!" she heard her father yell over Morfin's laughter. Merope shakily walked over to attempt to mend the pot, wishing the uncomfortable spotlight she was under would be directed to someone else, but the pot mended itself in response to the strange man's calm "_Reparo"_. Merope slowly picked up the pot and returned it to the shelf, ignoring her father's favourite insult of 'dirty Squib'. In fact, she ignored everything, pretending as if nothing had happened at all. Turning back at the defeated looking soup she was attempting to cook, Merope took deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. She was no longer interested in what the man had to say. She had no interest in anything anymore.

The only thing stopping her from running to her room and staying there forever was that she did not want to draw attention to herself again by leaving the room. For the next few minutes, Merope managed to drown out the conversation going on behind her. She idly stirred the soup, imagining Tom's face in the brown water. His dark eyes and his perfectly shaped lips. The prominence of his cheekbones when he smiled, all the while supported by that strong and handsome jaw. But the brown water was no substitute. Merope sighed and glanced out the window, as if Tom was going to ride past that very second.

Suddenly, her father let out a cry that made Merope drop the spoon she was holding. She turned just in time to see him run unevenly towards her with his arms outstretched, aiming for her neck, when suddenly her head was forced backwards as he grabbed the locket around her neck. The chain cut into her neck as Marvolo half dragged her across the floor towards the visitor, who was protesting in alarm, but Merope hardly heard. White stars appeared before her eyes as her father held her upright by the chain. She couldn't breathe ... couldn't breathe. Suddenly the pressure released, causing Merope to fall backwards and shuffle back into the kitchen, massaging her neck. She would have cried if she were not busy filling her lungs with air.

Slowly and shakily, she rose from her crouch and turned her back on the room, facing the window instead. She studied the fingernails on her hand gripping the sink, refusing to look at anyone through the hair covering her face, listening to the excited birds that were flying overhead. She deeply breathed in the light breeze that softly played on her face. Ignoring the now heated conversation going on behind her, Merope concentrated on breathing in rhythm to the leaves on the trees overhead, rustling in the gentle wind. _Breathe in_._ Breathe out_._ Breathe in_._ Breathe_ - Suddenly, and breaking Merope's meditation, the sound of a horses hooves on the road floated in through the open window. Merope's heart leapt and sank at the same time. _He was here_. Tom was here! But, oh God, why now? Had her father, brother and the Ministry man heard? Oh, she felt sick. But the men had noticed, for now they had stopped arguing, so that all that could be heard was Tom's laughter as he neared the house. How beautiful that laugh was; like magic itself to Merope's ears, if magic had a voice.

Behind her, Morfin almost hissed threatingly. Merope's head snapped up and she felt the colour drain from her face. Tom was done for. Merope was done for; her father would find out she was in love with a Muggle. Morfin was done for.

"My God, what an eyesore!" came a female voice from outside. Tom had a female passenger? Jealousy squeezed Merope's heart. _Cecilia_. It was probably Cecilia. But was Tom only being the gentleman he was and assisting her home? To save her the long walk home, possibly littered with highway men? Yes, that was it. It had to be it. Such a gentleman.

The girl spoke Tom's name. It sounded so casual, so at ease. Merope had never spoken to a man like that, and she had never been spoken to like so in return.

"... Don't look at it, Cecilia, darling." Tom was saying.

Merope's heart dropped. She could just imagine the girl with her arms around Tom's waist, her head resting on his straight back. _Darling_, she thought in anguish, at the same time Morfin voiced her thought in Parseltongue.

"'_Darling,' he called her. So he wouldn't have you anyway_."

_Oh no_, Merope thought, feeling sick in the stomach. _Please don't do this_.

But Morfin continued, "_She likes looking at that Muggle_,"

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no.

But it didn't stop there, to Merope's horror, "_Always in the garden when he passes, peering through the hedge at him, isn't she? _.."

_Oh no, oh no, oh no. _Oh, God, she was dead now. She was shaking her head frantically in a vain attempt to shut Morfin up. Why was he doing this? But then he said it, "_... And last night ... Hanging out of the window waiting for him to ride home, wasn't she_?"

Merope's eyes closed in defeat. This was it. Her secret was out. And she was terrified.

Her father advanced towards her, making Merope freeze in her shock. "_Is it true_?" he was saying.

Merope tried to say 'no', but her throat was too dry to form words. She could only shake her head in panic, as if the movement could take back all of Morfin's words. She began to back up, hitting her back against the counter. She was like a deer being stalked by a hungry lion, and now there was no place to go but to be painfully consumed. Marvolo was right in front of her now. Her breath, fast and unsteady, colliding with his, which was equally unsteady.

"_You disgusting little Squib, you filthy little blood traitor_!" he shouted in her face. Merope continuted to frantically shake her head, mouth opening and closing without releasing any sound, when her father wrapped his hands around her neck. Merope's eyes widened in shock, but the pressure released as quickly as it had come. Her father had been flung back from her, and in his unsteadiness, he lost his balance and ran into a chair, hitting the ground hard.

Merope's mouth dropped open in worried fear for her father, before her attention turned to Morfin, who had his knife and wand out and was brandishing both at the Ministry wizard whom had saved Merope from her father's impulsive rage. Merope finally found her voice, and screamed at the terrifying sight of her brother, who was now flinging spells at the man, the latter now ducking and running out of the house, closely pursued by Morfin. Merope continued to scream at her brother, even though he had left the house.

Her father was now on his feet, and he hobbled painfully out of the room, presumably after Morfin. In any case, he left Merope alone in the room, her own screams continuing to ring in her ears, long after she had stopped. They seemed to reverberate around the room. Merope dropped to her knees, covered her face in her hands, and begun to weep. Tears for the poor Ministry man; tears for father's broken pride and disappointment in her; tears for her brother, who had buried Merope alive; tears for herself, and the dirt that was now her oxygen.

She wasn't sure how long she had spent crying, but she knew she could go on forever. After what could have only been a few minutes, she heard her father and brother return. Her brother's heavy footsteps disappeared upstairs, and her father's uneven ones walked into the dining room, but only after staring at Merope for a small while. By then, Merope had stopped crying, but continued to sit on the floor, head down, avoiding the gaze she knew her father was using. One that displayed the need to say something so strong he couldn't even speak it; instead, scrunching up his face in anger and thought. Then he, too, left.

It was when Merope finally stood up that the front door banged open. She looked in shock towards the source of the noise, to find the Ministry wizard had returned. And he was not alone. Behind him were at least six other wizards, brandishing their wands like swords. Merope could only stare at them with her mouth half open, before her brother and father returned, also called by the sudden noise.

"GET OUT O' MY HOUSE!" her father roared, pulling out his own wand as Morfin did.

Then there was an explosion of noise and light. It was two against seven, as the room was filled with the shouting of spells and the resultant light. Merope shrieked and hid behind a chair, listening in horror to the occasional cry of pain, some she recognised as coming from her father or brother. Every now and then she saw a flash of light out of the corner of her eye, as the spells rebounded against the furniture and walls. Then suddenly, all was quiet. Merope peeked out behind her sanctuary, to find her father and brother bound and gagged; only a muffled grunting emitting from their forms. The Ministry wizards were panting, some supporting injuries, as one stepped forward and said, "Marvolo Gaunt, Morfin Gaunt; you're under arrest."

After Merope's father and brother had been removed from the house, with Merope looking on in shocked disbelief, unsure what to do, she was approached by one of the Ministry wizards.

"Miss Gaunt?" he said tentatively, in response to Merope's pale face and wide eyes, those of which she turned on the wizard.

"You're relatives will be tried by the Wizengamot. It is they who will decide the ... punishment. Namely Azkaban," he said. "Will you be alright here, miss?"

Merope could only stare.

"Miss?" the wizard repeated.

Merope nodded slowly, and the wizard, who look satisfied with this answer, tipped his head at Merope before leaving, closing the door behind him.

Merope was alone.


	4. Chapter 4

After the Ministry wizards had left with her father and brother, Merope wandered around the house in a daze. Cleaning the house, stoking the fire, chopping wood and straightening the furniture, all done vaguely. Merope didn't know what to do. Were her father and brother ever coming back? Although she felt lost without them in the cramped house, she still dreaded the door banging open and her father walking stiffly in, his hands closing around her neck... But she would shake the image from her head, and resume her laps around the house.

It was on the third day of her solitude that she recieved an owl, with a note from the Ministry, informing her of her father's and brother's sentances to Azkaban. Merope stared at the letter in shock, until she heard the familiar sound of a horse clopping along the road. _Tom Riddle_, she thought in delight. Merope wasn't sure if he had ridden past in the last few days; maybe she had been too deep in her zombie-like state to notice, but she was glad he was here now. Taking a look around the hall as if to make sure her father and brother weren't watching, although it was impossible, she took a deep breath and walked outside, praying that he was alone this time. Tom was indeed by himself, and was nearing the house as Merope stood by the gate. She pushed her hair away from her face and held her back straight, smiling at him as he rode closer. Smiling for her was a strange feeling. She hoped she was doing it right. As he rode by, Tom seemed to be looking at her out of the corner of his eye, but made no move to acknowledge her presence. Merope hoped he would soon; it was getting awfully hot outside. Just when she was about to give up, Tom suddenly stopped his horse and audibly sighed. He turned around in the saddle to look at Merope.

"You couldn't spare a glass of water, could you?"

Merope frantically nodded her head and practically ran inside, as if Tom would leave if she took more than ten seconds. She raced into the kitchen and opened the cupboard that held the glasses. But then she stopped. A sudden thought had hit her. She had been so calm the past few days, with no trembling, tears or tantrums, all of which usually involved her father. Could she do it? Could she have possibly regained her magic? Merope slowly drew out her wand and pointed it at a sad looking glass, and was pleased to see her hand was steady. She took a deep breath and said clearly, if quietly, "Accio glass."

To her delight, one of the dusty glasses zoomed perfectly into her outstretched hand. Beaming, Merope filled it with water and ran outside. Tom gave her a strained but polite look and cautiously took the glass from Merope's eager grasp, downing its contents in one gulp. He handed back the empty glass, and with an awkward nod, was on his way again. Merope leaned on the gate to watch him ride away, and continued to do so even after he had disappeared down the hill. She loved him so much. He had to be hers. She would make him hers.

And she would use magic to do so.

When she could no longer stand the heat, Merope retreated inside and to the bookcase. Surely she could find a spellbook in there? But her search was to no avail. Not giving up hope, Merope decided to look in her brother's room, although she doubted he read much, even though he had a bookcase. Inside it, she found a rather gruesome book of hexes and curses and one that was a little more civilised. Flipping through it, she found the Imperius Curse; but she couldn't possibly use it... Could she? Merope shook her head and angrily closed the book. Of course not; it was not only Unforgivable, but she'd probably fry his brains in the process, with her magic she still believed to be delicate. She returned the book to the shelf with a sigh, when one caught her eye. A Potions book. Yes. That was the answer; she would make a love potion. How hard could it be? And if the days continued to be warm as they had been, if she waited outside with a glass of 'water', surely he would take it? It would be so easy, and Tom Riddle would finally love her back. What could go wrong? Closing the book, Merope tucked it under her arm and walked back into the kitchen to begin creating a shopping list of the ingredients for Amortentia.

_December, 1925_

As it turned out, Merope had just enough money to buy what she needed, except for the Ashwinder eggs. But when the shopkeeper had his back turned for the briefest of moments, Merope took the opportunity to swipe them from their shelf nearby, and stuff them into her small bag. Back at home, she read and re-read every step of the potion, determined to make it right the first time. For once, she wasn't going to be a failure. Before long, the steam began to swirl and spiral beautifully, and the potion adopted the mother-of-pearl sheen it was so well known for. The room slowly filled with the smells of horses, the hedge outside and warm rain. Merope smiled in satisfaction, sweat pouring from her brow. She had done it. And not a moment too soon; it was nearing the time Tom would pass the house on his horse. She gave the potion a stir or two more, before scooping a dose into a glass. The colour remained; it wouldn't pass as water. Merope thought hard about the spell she should use in present situation, when the sound of a horse's hooves came into earshot. Panicking, Merope chucked the potion into a mug, hoping Tom would gulp the liquid down without glancing at it and recognising it as something other than water. She ran outside into the heat to meet him.

As he neared, Merope held the mug out to him with her best smile. Tom didn't even look at her as he took the mug and normally this would have broken Merope's heart. But today, she was too anxious about his upcoming reaction than to notice. Tom drank all the liquid in one go, without noticing it's strange appearance or odour, (_what would he have smelt_? Merope wondered) and handed the mug back to Merope, still without looking at her. He once again took hold of the reins and made as if to signal his horse to move forward, when suddenly he stopped. Merope held her breath for several seconds as Tom remained frozen in his saddle. After what seemed like an hour to Merope, Tom dismounted as if in a daze. Then he looked up, saw Merope, and his face changed. He did not look at her in disgust, or awkwardness as he had always done, but looked at her as if she were something he had been waiting for for a long time, and had finally arrived. Oh, how Merope had longed to be looked at that way. Not just by Tom, but by any man. By any human. A smile crossed Tom's face; Merope almost cried. He was happy to see her. He was actually happy to see her! _Her_! Tom left his horse on the road to walk over to Merope, where he took her hands in his.

"My love." Merope whispered, through the tears falling down her cheeks.

"My _love_!" Tom cried as he brought her hands to his chest and held them there.

Merope gazed into his deep brown eyes, sparkling and alive with his new found attraction. How he appeared to adore her! _But it's not real, is it_? A small voice in her head said, but she pushed it away, to watch Tom's face near her own. His lips touched hers lightly, as if asking for permission, but Merope could only stand still, her eyes closed. Tom's mouth was soft against hers, his breath sweet in her mouth. He came closer still, and Merope parted her own lips in response. She had never done this before, but at least Tom knew what he was doing. His hands rested on her waist, making her heart bound around in her chest cavity. She flung her arms around his neck ungracefully, and she mentally cringed. But Tom did not seem to notice, too intent on his work.

He broke away, only to plant smaller kisses over her cheeks, on her forehead, on the tip of her nose. Merope giggled; a hoarse and strange sound, but it still felt good to do so.

Suddenly, Tom's grip tightened around her waist, and he half carried, half dragged Merope inside, his lips at her throat. He threw her against the nearest wall, moving his mouth from her neck to her lips again as his kiss grew more intense. This was the most amazing moment in Merope's life. Then Tom grabbed her leg just under the knee and hooked it around his waist. Merope's breath caught in her throat; her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could feel it. Heck, he could probably see it! He slowly began to run a hand up her thigh, pushing her dirty dress aside. Merope's eyes flew open and her breath caught in her throat.

"No," she stopped him, though it pained her to do so.

"Darling?" Tom said, panting slightly. _Darling_! Merope thought with glee. Finally, she was the darling!

"Make an honest woman of me, Tom."

Tom thought hard in an almost comical way, before his face brightened with a sudden idea. He grabbed her hands in his own again.

"Marry me, my love." he said softly, his nose almost touching Merope's.

Tears welled in Merope's eyes, and one escaped, only to be wiped away by Tom's soft thumb.

"Of course," she whispered. "Of course I will. Yes!"

Tom grinned and kissed her again before saying, "My sweet, I must go. But tomorrow I shall come to you, and tomorrow we shall be wed!"

And with that, he was out of the house and on his horse, riding away before Merope could say anything. She was left speechless in the sudden and massive turn her life had taken. But she managed the biggest, prettiest smile her lips had ever worn.


	5. Chapter 5

Following Tom's abrupt departure, Merope began to think. Surely tomorrow was too soon to be married? Surely there were things to be organised? The guests, the bridesmaids, the cake, the reception, the ... But as soon as Merope thought of these, she felt silly. Of course there was nothing to organise. Tom was under a spell; this had to be secret. Besides, she had no friends to be guests, let alone be bridesmaids. There would be no one there to watch she and Tom cut the cake together, or anyone to eat it afterwards. No one to attend the reception, and congratulate them on the big event.

Would he tell his parents? Merope wondered. She hoped not. There was no way they would approve. Who knows what measures the Riddles would take to stop their son marrying someone ... Well, someone like Merope.

No, the wedding would have to be tomorrow. Merope wondered what Tom was doing now. Was he organising some beautiful ceremony for her? The thought made her heart flutter. As did the thought of her wedding night, though this also made her nervous. She hoped Tom would know what he was doing, but at the same time, she wanted to be his first. And only. That's when Merope decided she would buy something ... nice to wear for that night. Her fear of becoming an old maid vanished. She would not die a virgin after all. Relaxing slightly at the thought, Merope grabbed her bag and headed in to town.

Just before Merope entered the town square, she passed a bridal gown store. Of course, she'd need a dress! How could that have slipped her mind? Merope entered the shop. She browsed for a while, trying to ignore the stares of the young girl at the counter. Merope knew what she was thinking; why would someone who looked as Merope did be looking for a wedding dress? Not to be married in, surely. No one that ugly could be married. But Merope kept her chin up as she passed through the beautiful dresses. _You _are_ getting married_, she thought to herself. _Tom asked you for your hand. Tom loves you._ Merope tried to imagine herself in one of the more extravagant dresses, looking beautiful. A true blushing bride. But all she saw when she closed her eyes was a blonde haired, blue eyed woman in that dress, with long legs and full breasts, standing next to Tom by an altar. Nothing like Merope. But through the tears beginning to well, Merope reminded herself that although she wasn't beautiful, it would be _her_ standing next to Tom by the altar. Technically speaking, anyway.

Now, how was Merope to get the dress out of the store? She couldn't buy it; she had no money. And it wasn't going to fit in her bag like the brassiere and underwear she was planning to steal would do. She scanned the shop, and spotted the proper dress bags hanging on the wall. She would have to steal one of those too. But how? Struck by a sudden idea, Merope left the shop and rounded the corner, into a dry, grassy area. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, but still feeling slightly silly, she began to call on any snakes in the area. Merope had always known she could speak Parseltongue, but her father and brother didn't. She'd only used it once or twice before in her lifetime.

Five long, brown snakes emerged from the tall grass, and hissed around her feet.

"_Follow me_," she said to them.

Merope walked casually back in to the shop, the five snakes following her silently (no one was around to notice, thank goodness). She opened the door slowly, giving the snakes time to slither in before her, without making Merope look suspicious as she entered again. She pretended to continue admiring the dresses, standing as close to the dress bags as she could. Merope heard the young girl behind the counter scream loudly, and saw her run out the back of the store. Merope grabbed a bag, and shoved the nearest dress into it, without even seeing how it looked. Someone would have heard the scream and would soon come running.

"_Thanks_," Merope said to the two snakes who had not followed the girl, and hurried from the store.

Although Merope was trying to walk casually down the street with a garment bag over her shoulder, she couldn't help but smile largely to herself. Just because she _had_ the garment bag over her shoulder, and what it contained bought her much joy.

Her next stop was the store that sold lingerie. Upon entering, Merope found herself blushing at the more skimpier pieces on display. Again, she felt foolish. She wasn't the type of person to be in this shop. But thankfully, as was in the wedding dress store, no one offered her the assistance that would have made her feel even more uncomfortable. Merope decided she didn't want to show as much flesh as some of the pieces suggested, and instead chose a red, lacy brassiere with matching underwear, and a short, white silk nightie. Looking toward the counter, Merope was pleased to see that the girl was no longer there; obviously tired of waiting for Merope and assuming she would call out when Merope was ready to pay. Seizing the oppurtunity, Merope grabbed what she wanted, stashed it in her bag, and left the store.

Once at home, Merope examined the wedding dress she had chosen at random. It was, in fact, very beautiful. Floor length, with a small train (but this perhaps was unintentional, seeing as Merope was rather small), it didn't hug her body the way she would have liked, but she hadn't had the time to search for her size or, indeed, try it on. But it still looked lovely, almost completely lace, longsleeved with a high neck. Merope looked nice in it. But just nice. Something was missing, though. After staring at herself for a few minutes, she realised she needed a veil. Her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't get married without a veil! Tom had to lift it before he kissed her. Removing the dress and taking it into the kitchen, Merope cut off the train, and attempted to patch the ends up with magic. It was a dodgy job, but hopefully Tom wouldn't notice. She attatched the veil to her hair with a couple of rusty barrettes, put the underwear and silk nightie on, and the dress over that, just as there was a knock on the door.

Merope bounded to the door, realising too late how foolish she would look if it were not Tom at the door; but it was.

"My love, you are so beautiful!" he exclaimed, pulling Merope into a hug that lifted her off her feet.

"And you, so handsome!" Merope replied, stepping back to admire him further, once he set her down. Tom was looking perfect, as always, but even more so in the suit he wore. So mature, so sophisticated, so ... hers.

"Come, my darling," Tom said, grabbing her hand. "Let us be wed!"

Merope smiled, showing all her teeth, not nearly as nice as Tom's, and let herself be dragged out of the house and into the twilight. But as she turned to close the door behind her forever, she stopped.

"I won't be a minute," she said, pulling her hand free from Tom's grasp and running back inside. In the living room, she grabbed a dusty piece of parchment and an old quill that looked as though it only had a few words left in its life.

_Father_, she wrote, slowly and wobbly, due to not much practice.

_I am sorry I am no longer here, but I have married Tom Riddle, and will not be returning._

Here, Merope paused. How should she sign it? She thought, but she felt no affection. Only sympathy. She touched the quill to the parchment once more.

_Your daughter,_

_Merope_

Tom had indeed planned something wonderful. It was simple, but Merope was dizzy just to be by his side, let alone about to marry him. He had taken her to a small, fenced off paddock, walking distance from Merope's home, though the Riddles probably owned it. In the middle of the paddock was a single willow tree, its branches touching the ground, swaying softly in the breeze. There were a handful of small lanterns on the ground and some placed precariously in the branches of the willow.

There was a man standing under the willow, when Tom lifted the branches aside from Merope.

"My sweet, this is Father Bryan; my family's priest and lawyer," said Tom.

"Hello," Merope said a little faintly. Of course the Riddles had their own priest/lawyer. The old man looked strangely at her, a look she was used to by now, and back to Tom. He seemed suspicious, but said nothing.

Merope placed her bag by the trunk of the tree. It held very little; a couple of dresses, spellbooks and the remaining ingredients for Amortentia, which Merope would have to continue making and distributing on a weekly basis. She positioned her veil so it rested over her face, and the ceremony began.

It was short, of course. Merope and Tom made their vows up on the spot. Tom was confident, his teeth flashing as he promised to adore Merope; Merope's voice broke and shook, but she too, promised to care for him, to love him, for as long as she lived. The tears started to fall as Tom put a ring on her finger. It looked old, and was a simple silver band, with no jewel, and probably second hand, but Merope couldn't care less.

"You may now kiss the bride," the old priest said in a gravelly voice to Tom.

Tom beamed, obviously at the thought of kissing Merope, and lifted the veil; exactly how Merope had pictured it. However, when Merope had imagined a soft and perfect first kiss as husband and wife, Tom instead grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her fiercely, taking Merope by surprise.

Afterwards, Tom led Merope to where he had left his horse, which she had not noticed was there.

"He won't tell anyone about this, will he?" Merope asked anxiously. "Father Bryan?"

Tom laughed as he hopped into the saddle, and leaned down to help Merope up. "No, my love. He has been sworn into confidence."

Merope was reluctant to get on the horse, since she had never done it before, but took Tom's warm, soft hand in her own, nonetheless. She held on for dear life as Tom clucked the horse into a walk, wrapping her arms around Tom's waist; just as she had imagined Cecilia to do, all those weeks ago. Well, it was not Cecilia married to Tom. It was Merope.

"Married, my love!" Tom exclaimed as he directed the horse onto the dirt road. "How does it feel to be so?"

"Wonderful, my darling," Merope replied, and she rested her head on his back, listening to his heart beat and his lungs rise and fall. Such a beautiful sound. Such a beautiful heart. "But where are we going?"

Their destination was a cottage on the far side of Great Hangleton. An hour or two, at most. Tom had inherited the cottage in his uncle's will, not two weeks ago.

"It needs some dressing up, I'm afraid," Tom said. "But you can take care of that can't you, dear?"

Merope replied that of course, she could, and was looking forward to it. Which she was. The house would have brightly coloured furniture. Lots of windows. Lots of light. A place where Merope could _breathe_. She would add many flowers in pots. Have her children dashing around her legs as she cooked for her family. The grandchildren would visit twice a week. Merope sighed at this image, and was soon asleep, Tom's heart her pillow.

Merope must slept longer than she thought for when she woke, she was already in a large, soft bed. Looking around drowsily, she could make out the outline of the four poster bed she was in, and a wardrobe to one side. It was still dark outside; though the full moon and bright stars cast shadows into the room.

"Finally, you are awake," said a deep voice.

Merope saw something stir to her left; Tom had been sitting on a chair, but now he rose and crossed the room to sit on the bed beside her. Had he been watching her while she slept? She did not know. It would have been romantic; if Merope had not snored. She cringed at the thought, and hoped she hadn't.

"I'm sorry," Merope said, butterflies rising in her stomach as Tom laid a hand on her leg. "It's all the excitement."

"That was only the beginning," Tom whispered, moving closer. Merope could feel his breath against her neck as he kissed it softly.

_This is it_, Merope thought. She was incredibly excited, but nervous at the same time. She took a deep breath, and moved her trembling hands down his chest. Tom had already removed his coat and tie, so Merope began to unbutton his shirt. When all buttons were undone, Merope ran her hands over his smooth chest. He was so beautiful. Toned and muscular; it was as if the lines of his body had been drawn on.

Tom took the whole shirt off, and moved his mouth onto Merope's. His tongue playfully tickled her bottom lip, warm and sweet. He began to take her wedding dress off. He did it so smoothly it was as if he knew every detail of the dress. Perhaps he had been studying it while she slept. Merope broke the kiss to slip out of the lace, leaving her in the small nightie she forgot she was wearing.

"Well, well," Tom said, leaning back to have a proper look, making Merope blush. "What have we here?"

Merope mumbled something incoherent as Tom leaned forward to slip it slowly over her head, leaving her in the red brassiere and underwear. He moved back again to 'admire' her body. Merope knew there was not much to her. She only just filled the A cup she wore, and she was skinny, but not in a desirable way. Most of her bones were prominent. But the potion made Tom love her body. A look of total passion and _hunger_ came over his face. Merope couldn't help but smile at the attention. This made Tom smile, and he whispered, "Lie down."

Merope did so, her heart pumping with adreneline. She wanted this now. She wanted it bad. Tom placed his mouth over her stomach, planting small kisses over it, slowly moving up towards her chest.

"I appreciate this, you know," he said, pulling the brassiere straps down. "But I'm afraid there's just no need for it." He grinned cheekily, making Merope giggle.

Tom cupped his hands around her swells of flesh, before drowning Merope's gasp of pleasure with his kiss.


	6. Chapter 6

_July, 1926_

Days passed. Weeks passed. Heck, years could have passed for all Merope noticed. She was living in heaven. A heaven she never knew existed.

For the first couple of weeks, Merope had busied herself making the cottage a home. No one had lived in it for a month or two, so everything was dusty. But even when it was covered in two inch thick mothballs, Merope could tell it was a lovely place. Very small; it held only a kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and living room, and was quite literally square in shape. But it was cosy. Perfect for two people. Especially two newlyweds.

Merope always had the windows open to let in a fresh breeze, had plants and flowers cluttering the window sills. She even changed the colour of the curtains with magic; when Tom wasn't looking, of course. Merope let into her life the colour she had always been denied. Her life became so simple. Wake, cook, clean, cook, make love to Tom, sleep. Repeat.

Fortnightly she administered Amortentia to Tom in his nightly wine. Although it pained Merope to do so, her spirits always lifted with Tom's fresh look of infatuation.

But, as time wore on, Merope grew unhappy in the marriage. It wasn't like she no longer loved Tom. God, it was far from it. It was that they hardly talked. Not about important things, anyway. It was always "Should we get a new couch?" from Merope, and "My darling, you are so beautiful!" from Tom. He loved her, yes. And Merope loved him. But she wanted to live how she had imagined; with more meaning. Their relationship was physical. She wanted something spiritual.

Surely... surely after having so many doses of Amortentia, something would stick? Part of him would always desire Merope? Surely... that could happen?

But Merope wasn't so sure. She deeply wanted it, but what if she lost him? What if he went back to being the Tom Riddle he really was? Merope didn't think she could handle him to look at her as he used to again. So she kept having him drink the potion. Though she grew more reluctant every time.

One day, long after they had settled in, both Merope and Tom awoke feeling strange. Tom had a fever, and begun vomiting into the pot Merope quickly fetched for him. But Merope just felt ... different. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Certain she was a little bit drowsy, she decided to take a hot shower, running the water before she was ready in order to drown out the sound of Tom's vomiting.

She took a moment to breathe in the steam from the running water, before taking her stained dress off, leaving her naked. She stood looking at herself in the mirror, though she couldn't see much through the steam. Only a fuzzy outline. It was like her life, really. No detail, only a brief sketch. Merope grabbed her wand out of her dress and used it to blow cool air over the steam on the mirror. Slowly, it began to evaporate. Once Merope could see her reflection, odd eyes bright, she noticed why she felt different. She had gained weight. How extraordinary. She looked so much healthier. But ... that was strange. Yes, she was eating more nutritiously with slightly larger portions, but they still had to be lenient with their food, because they were trying to lie low, and couldn't order horse-and-cart delivered groceries on a regular basis.

So why had Merope gained weight? Especially in her lower stomach. Why, she almost looked -

Merope froze, heart pounding, stomach sinking. She couldn't be. Looking frantically around the bathroom, she grabbed the newspaper lying on the floor by the toilet. Her vision blurred as she read the date. It was July. Even if this paper wasn't recent, it meant it had been more than four months since her last menstrual period. She had been living in such bliss that she hadn't even noticed.

Merope dropped the paper in a daze. Pregnant. _Pregnant_. With Tom's child! Slowly, as recognition seeped in, she let a grin form on her face. How extraordinary.

After caressing her budding stomach for a few minutes, Merope flew open the door and ran into the bedroom, forgetting she was naked.

"Tom! My darling!" she exclaimed.

His head didn't even emerge from the pot as he mumbled, "Yes, my sweet?"

No, now wasn't the time. Not when he was like this.

"Oh... um, nevermind."

But a sickening thought occured to Merope. What if Amortentia was making him so unwell? Was it possible to overdose? Merope bit her bottom lip as she made her decision. She was going to stop administering the potion. It was a massive risk, but she believed he would still love her without it. How could he not, after all this time? And especially once she told him she was carrying his child. This had to work. It had to.

It took Tom three days to be well again, but after that he was still bedridden. It was the day before that Merope should have given him the potion and now, she waited anxiously by his side, watching for any sign that the potion had worn off.

It was on the third day of Merope's waiting when it happened. She came into the bedroom with the newspaper for Tom, to find him sitting up as opposed to sleeping as he usually did, and staring into the distance.

"Darling?" Merope asked cautiously.

Tom turned his tired eyes onto her, before they widened in shock. "Who are you?" he asked, looking alarmed.

Merope's heart sank as she replied, "It's ... Merope, my love. We - we are married."

"Married?!" Tom exclaimed, looking horrified. He swung his legs out of bed.

Merope hurried over. "Please, Tom, don't leave!" she grabbed his arm as he stood up.

"Don't touch me!" he said, shoving her aside. "Wait, I know you ... You - your from that old house on the hill ... you gave me water and -"

Recognition took over his features as the past rose like the dawn before him.

"Oh, my God," he said, looking towards Merope, who was shaking in the corner, tears splashing to the floor. "Oh, my God!" His look of horror turned to disgust. "What - ?"

"My darling, you can't leave! I'm pregnant!" Merope sobbed, grabbing his arm again as he took a few steps back. "I am pregnant with your child!"

"Oh, God!" Tom exclaimed. "How -? What-? What have you done?!" he spat in her face.

"Tom, I - I'm sorry! It was a potion -"

"You _drugged_ me?" he shouted in his face. He was so angry. Each word stabbed Merope's heart.

"No! Tom, never! It was - it was m-m-magic!" the word slipped out before she could stop it.

"Magic?" Tom barely whispered.

"I - I'm a witch ... But I love you Tom! I thought we could live happily together!"

"What?! With you?" he looked apalled. He began opening and closing his mouth, unable to get out what he wanted to. He ran a hand through his hair and growled, making Merope jump.

He suddenly froze, before raising his head slowly. "Did you say 'witch'?"

Now it was Merope's turn to open and close her mouth. She tried to nod, but it turned into an odd jerk.

Tom stared at her for a few long minutes, trying to comprehend. He began to back away from her slowly. "Witch?" he kept whispering. "_Witch_?"

Merope watched him back away through the litres of salty tears forming and spilling from her eyes. But when he reached the door, she took a step toward him.

He ran.

Merope's breath caught in her throat as she followed him, but he was faster. She stopped at the front doorway, watching in shock as Tom ran down the road screaming, "Witch! A witch! Help!"

Merope continued to watch, frozen where she stood, for several seconds, before adreneline kicked in, and she too, ran. But in the opposite direction.

She constantly stubbed her toes on rocks and fell over uneven ground as she ran blindly, sobbing all the way. She passed street signs but did not read them. She did not know where or who she was, nor did she know where she was going. She ran like she had never run before.

Eventually, she came to a stop. By tripping over a rock that sent her flying into a (thankfully) soft patch of grass, and there, she passed out; lost in her exhaustion and grief.

Merope opened her eyes to morning. She was confused for several seconds as to why she was lying on the ground and what had woken her up, until everything came flooding back, and she became aware of a hand gripping her arm, attached to a male voice saying, "Up you get, love."

She raised her head blearily to look at the man above her. She saw him do the usual recoil of shock at Merope's appearance, but she knew he must have had even more reason to do so now. Her face was smeared with dirt from her fall, her eyes swollen and bloodshot, slightly crusted together from her tears. But the man recovered his features straight away, so Merope could see his kindly face hidden by a short, grey beard.

"Come on, love," he said, tugging her arm. "Let's get ye on yer feet, now."

Merope slowly stood upright, using the man for support. Once the old man was sure she wasn't going to fall over, he let go of her arm, leaving Merope to rub her eyes and take in her surroundings.

She was standing on the edge of a dirt road, on which stood a horse and cart, presumably belonging to the man standing in front of her. It was a fairly open area, with only a few trees scattered around. Merope felt vulnerable standing in the open like so, when people would surely be looking for her; but she was far from Great Hangleton.

"Now, why you be sleeping on the ground, like?" the man asked.

Merope sighed softly, holding back tears as she thought of the real reason. "I ran away from home," she said quietly. "I have no one anymore."

"And where be home, then?"

Merope just stared at her feet until the man said, "Alright, I understand."

He examined her for a few minutes before removing his newsboy cap to reveal a balding head, which he rubbed in thought.

"You wanna go to London?" he asked. "I gotta drop in some supplies to my niece. You can come if you want."

After a few long moments, Merope nodded. There was nothing here for her now but heartbreak. So Merope sat beside the man in his cart, which contained at least twelve large crates, and a smaller one. Merope could not see their contents.

The old man introduced himself as Richard Jones. "But you can call me Dick. Everyone does." he winked, before he informed her that the trip to London would take the whole day. During the first hour on the road, Dick tried to make small talk, but gave up after Merope replied with one word, or just didn't answer at all. She slept uncomfortably for most of the trip, a hand protectively resting over her belly.

Merope woke at twilight, again to Dick's hand on her arm.

"We're here, love."

Merope yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. They were on a narrow, cobbled street, where everything appeared grey-blue in colour. The buildings were close together, and tall, making Merope feel claustrophobic after the conditions she was used to. The stones were damp and emitting an unpleasant stench. A rat ran past Merope as she hopped down from the cart.

Dick grabbed the smaller crate from the back of the cart, and carried it towards the door of one of the buildings, with Merope behind him. Inside was cold and dark, except for a single lit candle to one corner, which displayed the mysterious silhouette of a young woman, who started as they entered.

"Uncle Dick?" she said hoarsely.

"Yes, love. I've bought you some food and blankets and ... some company." Dick said, setting the crate down on a table. "This is Merope. Merope, this is my niece Cecilia. Cecilia Jones."


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing Merope noticed about Cecilia Jones, apart from the name, was that she, too, was pregnant. But about seven months pregnant, as opposed to Merope's four. She was very tall, and slim, apart from the fact she was pregnant. In fact, it made an odd combination. Her body seemed to want to stretch out, but (as she moved into the light) Merope could see her cheekbones, and her eyes were deep in their sockets.

As Merope saw Cecilia in detail, she began to wonder if this actually _was_ the Cecilia from Little Hangleton at all, for this woman was not how Merope had pictured Tom's first '_darling_'. This Cecilia had short brown hair, almost like a boy's, and brown eyes, that looked dull and sad. Her nose was too long. There was a large mole across her jaw on the right side. Her teeth were crooked. But that wasn't to say she was ugly. In fact it was quite the opposite, apart from her obvious misery. She was just... different.

"Who are you?" she said huskily, as if she had a cold; which Merope guessed she did as she watched the pale girl wipe her long nose on the back of her sleeve before ripping off a chunk of the bread she found in the crate.

"My name is Merope G - " But Merope stopped herself. What if Cecilia had heard of the Gaunts? None of what she could have heard would be good. So Merope took a deep breath and tried again. "I'm ... just Merope."

"Huh," Cecilia said through a mouthful of cheese, looking Merope up and down. "'Just Merope'. That's all you've ever been, haven't you Merope?"

"Cecilia," Dick scolded.

Merope hung her head. Perhaps Cecilia knew who she was after all? But no, she couldn't do. Cecilia was right; it was just how Merope appeared. Merope raised her head to look Cecilia in the eye. She wasn't going to take this. Not from Cecilia Jones.

"You don't look any better," she said, pointedly glancing at Cecilia's bulging stomach.

Cecilia stared at her for a few seconds, before bursting into loud laughter, spraying cheese and bread everywhere. If Merope were in the mood to laugh, and willing to like Cecilia, she would have found her laughter infectious.

"I like you, Merope." she said, turning to look at her, so that Merope could see the dimples that appeared on her cheeks when she smiled. "Where you from?"

Merope bit her lip. She didn't want to open herself up to anyone, or trust them either. She'd just get hurt again. But ... there was something about _this _Cecilia. Something that made Merope feel like she was no longer alone; she wasn't the only miserable, pregnant and plain woman in England.

"Don't ask questions, Cecilia," Dick said, wrestling the crate from her. "The poor girl's been through enough."

Cecilia poked her tongue out at him, as Merope said, "No, it's alright." She was curious, so here goes. "I'm from Little Hangleton."

_It _is _Cecilia_! Merope thought, watching as Cecilia's face went dark. Her smile dropped, and she hung her head.

"Cecilia's from there, too," Dick said, quietly.

"Uncle Dick!" Cecilia hissed. But then she sighed.

"Miserable place, innit?" she said to Merope.

Merope shrugged, before taking a deep breath and nodding, a small, sad smile on her face.

"Speakin' of which," Dick said, putting the crate down on a dusty table, which groaned at the unfamiliar weight on its back. "I gotta be headin' back," he looked at both of them sternly, but his gaze was on his niece as he said, "You'll _both_ be alrigh' here, then?"

Cecilia smiled, and glanced at Merope with an almost sympathetic look. "Of course, Uncle Dick," she said, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Thank you." she whispered.

Dick rested a hand on her growing belly for the briefest of moments, before tipping his hat in Merope's direction and leaving the room. The atmosphere became tense and eerily quiet; the candle throwing shadows that danced across the walls. After a few seconds Cecilia let out a sigh, and wrapped one of the blankets around her shoulders.

"The father in Little Hangleton, is he?" she said, nodding towards Merope belly.

Merope nodded, before quietly asking, "Yours?"

Cecilia also nodded, her expression wistful. "Yes," she sighed. "The most handsome man in the entire town…"

_Tom would be more handsome by far_, Merope thought to herself.

"We were so in love," Cecilia was saying quietly. She paused before sniffing noisily, "Or so I thought."

Merope saw by the candlelight a tear glistening on Cecilia's cheek. Tears welled in Merope's own eyes; she knew what it was like to be pregnant and alone.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Cecilia took a shaky breath, holding back tears. "He left me," she said thickly. "Without a word of explanation; said he no longer loved me, that his heart belonged to another…"

Merope's heart stopped. "Did he say who?" she asked through a dry mouth.

Cecilia shook her head. "He promised to marry me before the baby started to show, so I wouldn't be disgraced," she slowly ran her hand across the bulge in her dress. "But then he disappeared, obviously with his new woman," she added bitterly. "When my pregnancy became obvious, my parents … well…" she ran a hand through her now short hair. "That's why I'm here now. Uncle Dick is the only family I have now." She glanced at Merope, suddenly shy that she had shared so much with a stranger. "What's your story then, eh?"

Merope drew a shaky breath. "My … husband," she began quietly. "Well… he's dead. And now I have no one." She lowered her head to be sure Cecilia could not see through the lie.

"Poor dear," Cecilia said sympathetically. "What was his name?"

"T- T-" Merope stumbled, unsure whether she should reveal Tom's name. But Tom was a common name… "His name was Tom."

"Tom 'oo?"

"Tom… Smith. He wasn't from Little Hangleton."

"Oh," Cecilia sighed. "My baby's father's name is also Tom."

Merope looked up in alarm, eyes wide. Cecilia didn't notice, busy as she was studying her fingernails.

In a shaky, faint voice, Merope asked without wanting to know the answer, "Tom who?"

"Riddle. Tom Riddle." Cecilia replied quietly.

Merope's heart dropped and her eyes flooded with tears. She blurrily saw Cecilia wipe away her own tears as she rubbed her unborn baby; a little brother or sister to Merope's own tiny child.


	8. Chapter 8

_September, 1926_

As hours turned into days, which then turned to weeks, Merope and Cecilia found themselves growing closer to the other, though Merope remained cautious. Part of her remained jealous that Cecilia also carried a child of Tom inside her. But for the most part, they got along, through their mutual need for company.

Cecilia's baby had grown; ready to be born in only a few weeks. Merope watched the baby's constant moving with mixed feelings. She was in awe at the fact that there was tiny life moving around in there, waiting for the right moment to join them. But there was always jealousy in Merope's heart, as she watched Cecilia heave the extra weight around, groaning while she stretched her back. Although Merope was never sure why she was so jealous, when in just a few months she would have her own baby! Perhaps it was just that Cecilia would have her baby first. Cecilia was always there, beating her at life, though it was really no race.

Merope's own baby was growing, close to seven months old. She could feel its tiny feet kicking occasionally, though it was nowhere near as restless as Cecilia's. The young women spent a lot of their time talking about their babies. Names, sexes, their futures; though the latter was only ever talk. What kind of futures could they give their children?

Every time they had one of these talks, Merope wondered if she should tell Cecilia the truth; that their precious infants were actually half-siblings. But Merope never had the heart to. Not when she finally had a friend. Not when she saw Cecilia massage the massive mound, thinking about the father. At least that was the one thing they shared. Tom Riddle was the one thing that made the girls equal.

One chilly morning, Cecilia invited Merope to go for a walk. They only did this occasionally, preferring to keep out of sight. But that morning was beautiful. Lit with weak sunshine, cool, fresh air engulfing the girls as they waddled, arm in arm. Merope noticed that the sun lit Cecilia's hair beautifully. It was shiny in her pregnancy, even when she was low on nutrition, eating well only when Uncle Dick brought fresh food that only lasted them a week or two. Even now, Merope was still taken away but Cecilia's natural beauty. Her hair had grown and curled around her ears, her eyes were brighter, her skin rosy. She towered over Merope skinny frame. But even when Merope was constantly comparing herself to her, Cecilia treated Merope with such equality that even Merope would not treat herself with. Cecilia would often tuck Merope's hair behind her ears, and rub her feet when she could see Merope was growing sore. She treated Merope like a little sister; as if Merope wasn't skinny and ugly and oily. It was something Merope wasn't accustomed to, but certainly grew to like.

So as they walked that morning, Merope gripped Cecilia's arm hard. She felt like safety. Their walk down a quiet London street was rather uneventful. The occasional passer by gave them a small nod before they passed in the opposite direction. But after a few minutes, the silence grew eerie, and their footsteps began to echo. Merope felt as though they were being watched or followed. The hairs on her arm began to rise. She subtly glanced over her shoulder. There were four men behind them, close enough that Merope could hear their footsteps on the cobblestones, the echo to their own, but far away enough that Merope could not make out their features. Her heart began to race.

"Are we being followed?" Merope whispered to Cecilia, who then looked over her own shoulder.

"No, they're just going the same way," Cecilia said, though her eyes looked worried.

After a few minutes, Merope glanced over again. The men were even closer. She gently nudged Cecilia into a side street, trying to make it seem like this was where they were going all along. Cecilia went along with it, her body tense.

Just as Merope went to check if the men truly were following them, strong hands gripped her shoulders, and she heard Cecilia cry out. Two men were holding her, as the other two held Merope.

Merope only had time to hear Cecilia scream as she did, before she blacked out.

Merope's head was throbbing. Painfully. She couldn't see, hear or move anything, so she lay still, feeling her heart throb as her head did. Time ticked by slowly as she waited for sense to come. Soon she could hear a fire crackling, and someone sniffing close by. Merope opened her eyes. She was in the home she and Cecilia shared, with the fire going nearby. Something cold was pressed to her head.

"Alright?" Cecilia said, so quietly that Merope wouldn't have heard if she hadn't been so close.

Everything came flooding back to Merope: their followers; the rough hands that had grabbed her and Cecilia; the blow to her head that had knocked her out.

"How long have I been out?" Merope asked in a croaky whisper.

"Few hours," Cecilia answered with no emotion, still pressing the cool cloth to Merope's forehead.

"What happened?"

Cecilia bowed her head before walking over to the fireplace, where the shadows hid her face from Merope.

"I lost the baby," she said softly.

Merope's mouth went dry with shock. She didn't know what to say to Cecilia. What could she say? Cecilia walked into her room, her now even skinnier frame limping slightly as she disappeared into the dark.

Merope sat in the eerie silence of the tiny living room; every sound dimming as she thought of Cecilia. The trauma she must have experienced to have gone into an early labour, and to then have her baby born dead. Tears built up in Merope's eyes as she thought of losing her own baby.

She sat up slowly and her head began pounding again. There was pain on her inner thighs, too. They were bruised, as Merope discovered, but she had been lucky: her baby was still alive inside her.

Merope remained on the couch until the moon rose bright in the sky, moving only to keep the fire alive. When it was well and truly night, Merope's stomach pushed her to eat. Deciding that she had given Cecilia some space for long enough, Merope went into her room to see what she wanted for dinner, even though their choices were limited.

Merope pushed the door open slowly, calling Cecilia's name softly. The first thing she noticed was that the bed hadn't been used; Merope knew that Cecilia needed sleep to heal. But it was what was on the bed that caught Merope's eye, and made her heart drop. The bright moonlight threw a shadow across the bed; the shadow of the body of a limp woman.

Merope pushed the door open the whole way and walked in, adrenaline pumping, knowing what she was about to find, and she wasn't wrong. A thick, scruffy rope was tied to the ceiling, and on the other end, looking as beautiful as ever in the moonlight, was Cecilia.


	9. Chapter 9

After the tragedy of finding Cecilia's body, Merope ran from the house. Leaving everything behind, she plunged into the cold, though her numb body felt nothing. She stumbled a few times, blinded by her tears as she thought that it would most likely be Uncle Dick who would cut Cecilia's body down. Would he wonder what had happened to Merope, caught up as he would be in his grief? Merope was probably making the situation worse by running away, but her broken heart couldn't bear to go back now.

She ran until the snow made it too hard to run anymore, as thick and high as it was. Merope fell down against a building, protected from the snow by an overhang above her. She felt so alone, even with her baby heaving inside her. She sobbed as she clutched Slytherin's locket around her neck, desperate for any sort of comfort, even if it came with bad memories. She hugged her knees and cried until it grew dark. People passed her, but only spared her a glance before hurrying along the road. Eventually, even her stubbornness couldn't stand the cold, so she got to her feet (successfully on the third try), and begun walking, with no destination in mind.

_December, 1926_

Weeks passed in a blur, and Merope lost track of the date. She guessed she had wandered into December, judging time by her baby's growth. She must be close to giving birth; her baby was so restless and felt very big indeed. Merope had spent most of the time sitting in alleys; they kept out the icy wind (most of the time) and she sometimes found what food she could in the dumpsters, and other times stole what she could. But a long time had passed since she had eaten anything, and she found herself walking again after being driven out of a particular alley by the chef whose restaurant formed one side.

As Merope walked, she had a strange feeling of familiarity. Had she just been walking circles around this particular block? She stopped and took a good look around her, and knew why it felt so familiar. Before her was a small, grubby pub, and Merope instantly recognised it as The Leaky Cauldron; the entrance to Diagon and Knockturn Alleys. She hurried inside.

There were only a handful of witches and wizards inside, and they paid no attention to Merope as she hurried past. She stood in front of the brick wall that would take her to Diagon Alley, and remembered that she did not have her wand. She stamped her foot in frustration. Even if she did have her wand, she could not remember the order of the bricks to tap; her father or brother had always done it, with them not wanting Merope to dirty it by doing it herself.

She heard two female voices coming closer, and Merope hid in the shadows of a corner, not wanting to be seen. Two elderly women came into sight, gossiping and laughing away. Merope hurried forward as one opened the gateway to the alley, and Merope entered Diagon Alley.

How familiar it all looked, and how magical. The shops had Christmas decorations up, and Merope almost regretted giving up magic. Almost. Only to fit in with the beautiful sight. _Not that she ever could_, she bitterly thought to herself.

Merope automatically found herself walking towards Knockturn Alley, as her father had always taken her and Morfin there. She looked for Borgin and Burkes, wondering if the gloomy little shop was still around. Most of her birthday presents had come from this shop; on the years her father had remembered. She looked in the dirty window; it was displaying a selection of jewellery. It gave Merope a sudden idea. She took the locket off from around her neck. She was going to sell it. How angry her father would be! For a moment, Merope just about put it on again, afraid of what would happen if her father found out. But when would she ever see her father again? Merope was desperate, and the locket held no value for her anyway, so she entered the shop.

"Good afternoon, young lady," said a creaky voice.

Merope jumped and looked around. Standing at the counter was a little old man, whose dark oily hair fell well down over his eyes. "I am Caractacus Burke, at your service." He gave a little bow.

Merope walked forward on shaky legs. She held up the locket. "How much can I get for this, please sir? I really need the money."

Caractacus Burke looked her up and down before he took the locket from her and peered at it through his glasses.

"It was Salazar Slytherin's." Merope added.

"Was it now?" Burke said sceptically. He bought out his wand and mumbled spells as he tapped the locket, which lit up occasionally and made a whistling sound.

"My my," Burke whispered. "So it is! My dear, do you know how much this is worth?"

"No," Merope said truthfully. "But I'll take whatever, sir."

Burke studied her for a moment. "Very well, girl, shall we say ten galleons…?"

A smile broke on Merope's face. "Yes, please, sir."

An even bigger smile formed on Burke's face as he handed her the money. "Enjoy your day, my dear! Pleasure doing business with you!"

Burke chuckled to himself as Merope left the store. Perhaps he was as happy to receive the locket as Merope was to get rid of it. But she paid him no mind as she went to spend her ten galleons. The most she'd ever had in her lifetime. She bought with it a blanket, some food, and a few nights at The Leaky Cauldron.

But soon enough, the money ran out, and Merope's belly began to drop. Her baby was due any day now.

_New Year's Eve, 1926_

Merope retired to her room at The Leaky Cauldron early (the kindly old barman took pity on her and let her stay a few nights longer, free of charge), holding no interest in staying up to see the New Year. But her baby had other plans. Merope awoke suddenly during the night with a cramp in her belly, like a menstrual cramp. Drowsy as she was, Merope forgot about it as soon as it went, and fell back asleep. The next time it came, Merope awoke again in a panic. She was in labour. She was _in labour_! Her baby was finally coming! Another cramp, slightly stronger this time, cut Merope's joys short. _Oh crap, _she thought. _I'm in labour! _She jumped out of bed as fast as she could, which, given the circumstances, was not very fast at all. Waddling downstairs, she found the tavern empty save from a few drunken men beginning the New Year's countdown ridiculously early. Merope panicked as another contraction hit. She couldn't talk to these drunken men, so she ran outside.

Even through the snow, Merope could see there were no people about; they would all be inside, enjoying the last hours of nineteen twenty-six. So Merope began walking, in search of a hospital. She knew there was one around here somewhere; Muggles had them all over the place. Even though Merope was walking slowly, she felt strangely out of breath. She hadn't eaten in a few days; she knew the barman would have fed her if she asked, but she was too shy to ever go downstairs. Her body was now weakly struggling under its new pressure. Merope knew many women died in childbirth; what if she was one of them? Who would take care of her precious child? Her 'precious child' gave her another reminder that it was ready to come out now, so Merope continued walking. She constantly had to stop and breathe deeply, often for minutes at a time, in which the contractions quickly gained on her. But finally, up ahead, was a large building with even larger, official looking gates. _The hospital_! Merope thought with relief, and stumbled forwards.

As she approached the gates, she was close enough to read a little bronze sign to the side. It clearly displayed that this building was an orphanage. Merope's heart sank at her mistake, but it was too late now. Hoping this wasn't an omen, she opened the gates, slowly and painfully climbed the stairs, to let the ladies of the orphanage know of her arrival.

And so it was here Merope found herself, weakening with every breath, watching one of the women of the orphanage take away her son. Her son. Her own little piece of Tom Riddle, the love of her short life. Whatever became of Tom? Did he return home? Marry the women he was supposed to? The woman Merope had always assumed to be Cecilia. Ah, dear Cecilia. Merope's one and only true friend. Was she in a better place with her baby? Was Merope to join her soon?

Her baby's cry broke her little reverie, and Merope flicked her eyes towards the sound. But it hurt too much, so she went back to focusing on the ceiling.

Her beautiful little son. With his head full of hair and both his eyes facing the same direction. He was sure to be as handsome as his daddy.

_Tom Riddle_, she thought to herself. The name of the two most important men in her life. This was to be her dying thought as she closed her eyes, and fell in to a sleep from which she would never wake.


End file.
